The East Village

Marcella Durand

Saturnal Autumnal

To Saturn, secure about her rings,
barely visible through a half-moon light,
in an aerial cracking faintly in the turn of things,
things turn in the aether of night against night,
strangely surround roundness accentuated,
in clearness of ancient cataclysm, and marked,
to which you are the only faintness in your turn,
as night would face night, or day comes in cracking,
as he would take telescopes and within the viewpoints
find the neatly fit within and about the magnetic glasses,
through the half-moon lit as though found inside an angle,
a telescope bending and mirrored within,
as astronomer, I, mark the half-cracking night,
as glass ground, or spectacles invented,
would bring the world into clearer focus,
mark the strewn rings of matter,
of matter made, rocks and certain debris,
speaking of a time cataclysm happened
a crackle faint against the half-moon light,
a spotlight diffused as though from an angle,
when bounced back and against roundness found,
great round bodies marking matter,
in clarity and turning night against night,
as light would face and in obliqueness,
shatter and mark upon the planet's face day.